


Round One

by morning_coffee



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dirty Talk, Double Anal Penetration, Extra Treat, Fingerfucking, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Spanking, Threats, Triple Penetration, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-12 17:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morning_coffee/pseuds/morning_coffee
Summary: Charlie knows he's in trouble as soon as they lead him into the interrogation room.
Relationships: Male Prostitute/Cops Who Arrested Him
Comments: 15
Kudos: 377
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Round One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiffElderberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiffElderberry/gifts).

Charlie knows he's in trouble as soon as they lead him into the interrogation room. 

The cop who collected him from the holding cell shoves him inside, and there's laughter when Charlie stumbles. When he catches himself and looks around, he sees that two other cops are already in the room, one of them leaning against the far wall casually sipping a beer. The other one sits propped up on the table with his legs spread into a wide V that draws Charlie's eyes towards the massive bulge in his uniform pants.

Neither of them looks like they're here to take his statement. Charlie swallows and forces himself to stay calm despite the helpless panic tightening his chest. "I'd like to call my lawyer, please," he says, more confidence in his voice than he feels. 

The cops share a look before breaking into laughter, loud and rowdy. Charlie flinches, and the sense of dread intensifies.

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that," the cop at the back of the room says with a chuckle. 

His colleague clearly shares his amusement. "Gotta wonder if that lawyer he wants to call is a client of his. Kid probably pays the fees by spreading his legs."

They're laughing again, and Charlie feels humiliation burning on his cheeks. He wants to object, but he knows that talking back would only make things worse.

The officer behind him leans in close. He's the biggest of the three men. Charlie still remembers how everyone in the holding cell had backed away when he'd opened the door and stepped inside to collect Charlie, remembers how even the guards had seemed intimidated when he'd barked orders at them, how they all had gone, _'Yes, Officer Davidson. Right away, Office Davidson.'_ Charlie had thought it was funny, then. He doesn't think it's funny now, with Davidson's broad form blocking the door and his breath brushing hotly against the back of Charlie's neck as he speaks. "How about we cut out the middle man, hm?" he says, voice deceptively mild.

Charlie shakes his head. "Look, I don't—"

He doesn't even know what he wants to say, how he could talk his way out of this.

It doesn't matter either; he gets cut off before he even started, rough, large hands grabbing his wrists as Davidson twists his arm onto his back. He instinctively tries to get away, but there's no escaping the iron grip, Davidson's fingers digging painfully into his skin.

"Here's the deal, kid. We can have some fun together. You be a good boy for us, we decide that maybe we made a mistake arresting you and let you walk. Or we take your prints and your statement and throw you to the wolves. Pretty face like yours, I don't think your fellow inmates will treat you better than we would, but if you want to take your chances, be our guest." Davidson's tone still is still smoothly conversational, like they're just having a friendly chat, but there's no mistaking the threat for anything but what it is, and panic claws up Charlie's throat, choking him up. 

He's been doing tricks now and then since his first year at college, just a part-time thing whenever money was tight. But he's always been careful choosing his clients, staying away from the ones who seemed like they wanted to play rough or who were looking for some kind of party favor to share with their buddies. He heard plenty of stories about jobs gone bad, but he'd been lucky so far.

Apparently, his luck has run out now.

The other cop pushes himself off the wall and saunters over to him, something threatening about his swagger that would make Charlie back away if he could. The cop stops right in front of him so that Charlie has nowhere else to look. _D. Manners_, the name tag on his chest says. He's tall and younger than Davidson and the other one, and his eyes are the coldest grey that Charlie has ever seen. He shivers, even before Manners reaches out and grabs his chin, forcing his head up. 

"You don't wanna take your chances, trust us."

He's standing too close and his breath smells like beer, but there's something hypnotic about his gaze. Charlie can't bring himself too avert his eyes, no matter how much he wants to, not even when Manning's other hand palms his cock through his jeans, kneading it with rough fingers until he starts growing hard. 

"We're gonna take good care of you," he promises with a squeeze just this side of too tight.

Between the hand on his groin, the one holding his head and Davidson's grip on his wrist, Charlie is well and truly trapped, wedged between the two men, feeling overwhelming and helpless with the knowledge that there's no way out of this.

He jumps when the chair clatters to the floor. "How about we get this show on the road?" the third cop complaints, clearly losing patience. "My shift ends at two. I don't wanna be here all night." 

The words leave Charlie with a new stab of alarm. He isn't sure how late it is, but he was brought in around seven and even though the time at the holding cell felt endless, it was probably less than two hours. Which means 2 a.m. is still hours away. Shit, shit, shit. That's hours for them to do whatever they want with him. And that's just assuming the next shift won't want to have a go as well.

He barely registers Manning and Davidson laughing. 

"Hold your horses, Mike. Kid hasn't made his choice yet."

Mike snorts. "Not much of a choice, is it?"

The worst thing is, he's right, and of course all of them know it. It's clear in Mike's amusement, in the dark gleam in Manning's eyes, in the way Davidson's unrelenting hands hold him in place. Charlie swallows, mind running in circles as he's desperately grabbling for some angle to negotiate. "Just the three of you. No one else," he says, trying to make it sound like a demand rather than a plea.

Manning's smile is wide and wolfish. "Don't worry, when we're through with you, you won't be able to handle anyone else."

His eyes flicker towards Davidson, some kind of silent communication passing between them, and then he steps aside, letting go of Charlie. The reprieve is short-lived because the next thing he knows, Davidson is manhandling him into the middle of the room, pushing him with his upper body down onto the table next to Mike.

Metal rattles, and before Charlie can comprehend what's happening, his second arm has joined the first on his back and a pair of handcuffs is snapped tightly around his wrist. "No, wait," he protests. "What are you—?"

"Just a precaution, kid," Davidson tells him. "Wouldn't want you to get any ideas."

Charlie shakes his head against the cool surface of the table, turning his head to catch Davidson's eyes. But from this position, he can only see Mike leering down at him. "No, please don't. I'll be good, I promise."

Someone slaps his ass, hard enough to smart even through the thick denim. 

"Yeah, you will be," Mike says. The tables wobbles as he gets up, but the handcuffs stay on. 

Charlie tries to breath through the panic. He hates being held down or trapped, never liked the feeling of anything around his wrists. He couldn't even handle a watch when he was a kid, and the handcuffs are firm and unrelenting in a way that make his stomach feel queasy. He's so caught up in the struggle with anxiety that he barely notices a pair of rough hands reaching around him to open up his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. They pool around his ankles, and the sense of being trapped intensifies.

A palm connects with his ass again. Once, twice, then the other cheek, and for a moment, he almost welcome the sharp pain because it grounds him and takes his mind off the cuffs. The cops are laughing. 

Mike has rounded the table to the side where Charlie's head is, looking on with his hand moving inside his pants and offering running commentary. "That's it, turn that sweet little ass nice and red. Warm him up for our cocks," he says, and Charlie feels his cheeks glowing with humiliation.

Behind him, someone laughs. "I think he needs some more warming up first."

A thick finger pushes into his ass, rough and relentless, but at least it's slippery enough to ease some of the friction, and Charlie is almost grateful that they're using lube instead of trying to go in dry. It fucks in and out of him a couple of times, spreading the slickness around, before a second finger joins it. It's too much too fast, and a pained whimper escapes Charlie's throat.

"Aw, kid, not enough for you?" Davidson asks with a chuckle, ignoring the way Charlie frantically shakes his head. "Let's give you something better then."

He pulls out his fingers, and Charlie mentally braces himself for what's coming next. He expects the thick, blunt head of a cock, but instead, something cool, smooth and unrelenting pokes at his hole. He instinctively tenses up, which earns him another slap.

"You need to relax. You don't want us to hurt you, do you?" Manning's cool voice sounds like the idea of hurting Charlie is not exactly unappealing to him. Charlie shivers and closes his eyes, forcing himself to unclench. "That's it, I knew you'd behave."

The pressure against Charlie's hole increases until it stops resisting the intrusion, cool glass pushing into his ass, and Charlie realizes that it's the rim of the bottle Manning drank from earlier. Fuck. That's—

It presses in harder, the bottleneck getting thicker the further it goes, stretching Charlie wider. "It hurts."

"You can take it," Manning says, and there's something oddly reassuring about the firmness of that order.

He can take it. Charlie closes his eyes and breathes through this discomfort and the humiliation as Manning starts fucking him properly with the bottle, pushing it in and out at a slow, measured pace, a little deeper each time, so that the stretch keeps pulling at the loosening ring of muscle. The glass warms up fast, and the edge of the rim drags against Charlie's prostrate, making the dull pain tip over into something almost like pleasure. Caught between his body and the hard mental surface of the table, Charlie's cock begins stir.

Someone's hand strokes Charlie's sweat-matted hair back with the dispassionate gentleness of petting a dog, and Davidson's voice is at his ear again, amused. "Such a good little slut. What do you say? You want some dick now?"

Charlie's eyes open sluggishly, and he comes to face with Mike standing over him with his uniform pants open, his hand lazily fisting his cock. It looks even larger now than it did earlier when it was straining against his pants, but blow jobs are Charlie's specialty. That part's gonna be easy. 

He obediently opens his mouth, and Davidson laughs. "Look at that, our little slut is eager for Mike's dick."

Mike steps closer, cock in his hand, holding it so close to Charlie's face that Charlie can smell it, musk and cheap soap and piss. Instead of slipping it between Charlie's waiting lips, though, Mike slaps it against his cheek, precum smearing across his face. Instinctively, Charlie turns away, but that only means that the next slap hits him higher, right across the nose, a sound of protest tearing from his throat.

"Sorry, kid. You gotta wait a while for this beast here. First we're gonna stuff that tight little ass of yours."

"Not so tight now," Manning says behind him. He drags the bottle out of Charlie, leaving behind a weird, unpleasant emptiness, and Charlie has to bite his lip to stop himself from asking for more.

Without warning, he's pulled backwards off the table. He's unsteady on his feet, his legs like pudding and the cuffed arms making it harder not to sway, and he's absurdly grateful for Davidson's hands on him, holding him up. 

He watches in confusion as Manning hops on the table. He has his pants pulled down, his cock leaking and upright. It's smaller than Mike's, long but not much thicker than the neck of the bottle. Better him than Mike, Charlie think, watching Manning give his cock a few pumps with his hand, before making a come hither gesture. 

"Come on then. Let me give you a ride. Let's see how well you can take it."

Without the use of his hands, Charlie couldn't climb the table if he wanted to, but doesn't even have the chance to move before Davidson grabs him and lifts him up like he's weighing nothing. He deposits him right above Manning's groin, keeping a grip on the cuffs so Charlie won't tumble sideways. 

Cool fingers spread his asscheeks open, and then Manning positions the head of his cock against the stretched, waiting hole. With one powerful, hard thrust, he fills Charlie up. It feels... good, almost. Full, in a nice way, after the weird, foreign sensation of the bottle inside of him. Manning snaps up is hips a few times. Again and again, each of his thrusts hitting the sweet spot inside Charlie just right, arousal spreading through him like flickering warmth. 

He's just thinking that maybe this won't be so bad, maybe he can handle it, when he's pulled forward until he's chest to chest with Manning, amusement in that icy gaze of his. "You like that, don't you. Maybe you'll like this too?"

Charlie doesn't know what _this_ is, but something in Manning's gleefully sadistic tone makes him think that he's unlikely to enjoy it. Manning's still buried balls-deep inside of him, but he has stopped thrusting, and when Charlie tries to move, the hands holding his cheeks apart tighten in warning. And then he feels it: a new pressure against his hole, something trying to push in next to Manning's cock.

His head snaps around, and he almost unbalances himself trying to look over his shoulder where Davidson is working him open. Fuck, no. That's not going to happen.

Charlie shakes his head. "No, wait. Don't. It won't fit."

"We'll make it fit, kid," Davidson says, calm and assured, and his finger breaches Charlie. 

It burns. The stretch is too much and he knows it'll get worse. His eyes start to water, and he can't even tell anymore if he's crying because of the pain, or the fear of pain, or the sheer helplessness of being at these men's mercy when it's clear that they have none. "No, please. Don't do this."

Manning grabs his chin and forces his head around again, his fingers digging cruelly into Charlie's skin. "Here's the thing. We're gonna do this, and you'll like it, and you'll beg us for more. We're gonna fill you up with cum and piss and whatever else we can think of until you're full. Then we're gonna plug you up and send you on your way. Or we can book you. See how well you fare in gen pop. We told you. It's your choice."

Charlie's still crying and shaking his head when Davidson replaces his finger with his cock, lining it up next to Manning's and pushing in, inch by torturous inch.

"Please, don't. It's too much. I can't—" He gasps when Manning pulls out a few inches and then back in again, overwhelmed by the feeling of two cocks working their way into his ass at once. "Oh my God—fuck—no—that's—"

"I think it's time you shut the kid up, Mike," Davidson says. He sounds out of breath, punctuating each word with a harsh little thrust.

Mike chuckles. Charlie had almost forgotten that he was there too. 

"Happy to," he says. "Open up, boy."

His cock forces itself between Charlie's lips, stretching them wide, and Charlie doesn't have the energy to protest anymore. He feels so incredibly full, trapped in all the worst kind of ways, two cocks brutally spearing his ass and one in his mouth, spit running down his chin and tears leaking from his eyes. And the worst part of it is that he's still half-hard. 

Or no, the absolute worst part is that they notice. "You're taking it so well," Manning whispers into his ear, gently like a lover and vicious like a monster at once. "Look at you, spread wide open by three fat dicks and still hungry for more."

They fuck him mercilessly, at a brutal pace, filling him up from both ends, hammering into him until Charlie loses his sense of time and reality, trapped at the edge of arousal and agony. Someone is rubbing his cock. He thinks it's Manning, but it could be Davidson. It doesn't matter. Clever fingers work him to full hardness even through the discomfort and the painful stretch, through the humiliation and the fear, and he feels his climax building, as helpless against the pleasure as he was against the pain.

He comes with a shout, muffled around Mike's cock.

It's worse, after that, without the haze of arousal clouding his mind. His jaw is as sore as his ass now, the taste of precum bitter and acidy at the back his his throat, and he just need this ordeal to be over.

Mike comes first, mercifully pulling out before he does, shooting all over Charlie face and his shirt. He can't tell if Davidson finishes before Manning, but at some point they both lose their rhythm, striping his insides with warm, wet streaks of cum. He makes a weak noise of protest, but that's all he can still manage at this point.

It hurts when they pull out of him. 

He feels Davidson step away, and he knows he'll have to move so Manning can get up, but that's beyond what little control he has left over his body. He lets his forehead sink onto Manning's shoulder and takes a few breaths.

"Can I go now please?" he mumbles weakly.

Manning's chuckles make his body heave. "You really think we're done with you yet?"

Charlie squeezes his eyes shut. Please, no. No more.

But Davidson clearly has other ideas. "We just gotta wait till we're read for round two, kid. But if you're getting bored, maybe we can work something out to keep you entertained."

Fingers card through Charlie's hair, and it's almost comforting until they tighten and painfully force his head back up. He whimpers in protest. Manning's smile is as chilling as the coldness of his eyes. 

"Ever been fucked with a nightstick?" he asks, and Charlie feels like someone punched the air out of him.

"No, please. Don't—"

The three of them laugh. "Don't worry, kid. You'll love it. Hungry little sluts like you always do."

End


End file.
